


Rarely Pure and Never Simple

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Series: The Importance of Being Stark [2]
Category: Glee, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blaine Anderson is Tony Stark's Son, Iron Man 3 Compliant, M/M, Valentine's Day, i apologise in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two things Blaine becomes aware of immediately after he wakes up are as follows: the first that he has a headache to end all other headaches, and the second that there is a bag over his head. His other senses return to him in patches, and he takes in the feeling of cold metal around his wrists – he’s handcuffed to a chair.</p><p>Oh God, this is going to <i>kill</i> Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**Author's Note:**

> The promised sequel.
> 
> Warnings for: kidnapping, injuries, hospitals and plot. Oh goodness, the plot.

**PART I**

It must be a particular brand of suck, Blaine thinks, to have to spend Valentine’s Day working. That’s what Tony’s doing, though, stuck across the globe, pitching Arc Reactor Technology to the Japanese Government. At least Tony’s got Pepper with him, Blaine supposes, but he can’t imagine that they’re going to be having much fun.

Blaine turns his StarkPhone over in his hand, quietly contemplating. Eventually, he makes his decision, and unlocks the screen, bringing up a new message. _Good luck in negotiations today_ , he taps out and hits send before he can think better of it.

It’s stupid, really, this cloying fear he has that he’s going to wake up and find that Tony’s gone, or that he’s dead, because Tony has proven again and again that he’s like a freaking cockroach as far as survival skills go. Just—

He lost him.

Unbidden, memories of last December’s headlines spring up in his mind. _MANDARIN ATTACK: STARK PRESUMED DEAD._

Blaine shakes his head. He won’t think about that. Tony’s still alive – against all the odds, Blaine might add – and he’s no longer reliant upon a glorified battery for life support. Things are—maybe not good, but not bad.

Blaine puts his phone away before Tony texts him a reply, then pushes up off his bed. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all, and Blaine doesn’t want to spend today angsting over his father.

\--

There is a large bouquet of red-tipped yellow roses sat in front of Kurt as he drums his fingers absent-mindedly against the table. His gaze is focused elsewhere and with the halo of sunlight around his head, Blaine can’t help but think he looks almost otherworldly.

Blaine pauses mid-stride, taking in the picture. A smile surfaces on his lips before he can help it. “Those are some lovely flowers.”

At the sound of Blaine’s voice, Kurt startles slightly, then meets his eye. Blaine slips into the seat opposite Kurt and slides Kurt’s customary mocha across the table to him.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, fitting his hands around his coffee cup. “My boyfriend got them for me.”

Blaine sips his own medium drip. “Sounds like a keeper,” he comments.

Kurt smiles. “You have no idea.” He takes a large gulp of his coffee. “How have you been, Mr Anderson-Stark?”

“Fabulous,” Blaine says back, copying Kurt’s tone and inflection exactly. “And you, Mr Hummel?”

“Never better,” Kurt says, sincerity seeping through into his otherwise joking tone. Blaine feels his chest warm. “So, are you still being stalked by government agents?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Kurt,” Blaine says. “They’re _everywhere._ ”

Kurt raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Even in the Lima Bean?” he asks.

“They’re masters of disguise,” Blaine says, nodding sagaciously.

Kurt snorts. “You’re ridiculous.” He raises his coffee cup to his lips. “The busboy’s looking pretty shifty, though, so you may have a point.”

It’s Blaine’s turn to snort, and he very almost inhales his coffee when he does so. Thanking the gods – and from what Tony has told Blaine about what went down in New York, the plural there is very much required – that he managed to avoid that potentially embarrassing and doubtlessly painful mistake, Blaine says, “That’s probably more to do with the fact that Troy likes to get high during his lunch breaks.”

Kurt shrugs. “Okay then, what about the barista—and you’re shaking your head. Why are you shaking your head?”

“That’s Kate,” Blaine says, smiling slightly. “She’s been here six years.”

“Oh. Then, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt, by the door—again with the head-shaking, what is it this time?”

Blaine’s smile is a full-on grin now, and it’s threatening to take over his face. “That’s Mr Buckminster. He taught me piano when I was seven.”

“Oh my God,” Kurt lets out, throwing his arms up in the air. “Let’s see you do it, then. C’mon, show me how it’s done, Mr Anderson-Stark.”

Blaine hides his mouth with his coffee cup. “You sure?” he asks. “You don’t want to take a couple more guesses? No?”

Kurt gives him a challenging eyebrow quirk.

“Fine,” Blaine says. “There’s the businessman by the door – the one checking the stocks on his tablet – and there’s the young college student in the corner. That makes two, but typical SHIELD protection details are four agents in size, so we’re looking at another two agents. If you look behind me, you’ll probably see a middle-aged couple feeding each other cake and pretending to be hopelessly in love – they’re the stationary team. Businessman and college student will move when we move, either to cover the bathroom, or our departure from the coffee shop.” Blaine turns his eyes back to Kurt, and his smile has taken on an undeniably smug edge. “Well, how was that for a demonstration, Mr Hummel?”

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or concerned that you can pick out highly-trained covert operatives from a crowd of people,” Kurt says. He raises his coffee cup to his lips and takes a long sip. “Is this a ‘my boyfriend is a certified genius’ thing?”

“This is a ‘your boyfriend’s father has a strange idea of father-son bonding’ thing,” Blaine corrects. “Tony took me out for dinner after— _in January_ for the sole purpose of teaching me how to pick my protection detail out of a crowd. I don’t think he trusts the government much.”

“He trusts them to keep you safe,” Kurt points out.

Blaine shrugs. “I guess.”

“Speaking of the infamous Tony Stark,” Kurt says, “am I ever going to meet him? I mean, I know he was here for the, uh, eye thing back in November, but he always visited you when I was at school, and it’s February now and I still haven’t met him. I’ve been driving myself to distraction trying to figure out which one of us you’re ashamed of.” Kurt frowns suddenly. “Does he not know that you’re gay?”

“No,” Blaine says immediately. “No, Tony knows. I mean, I never really _came out_ to him, but he knows. I talk about you all the time. It’s just—I thought you didn’t care my dad was Tony Stark?”

“I don’t,” Kurt replies. “But he’s your dad. And I care about you.”

A memory surfaces in Blaine’s mind, of the Tony Stark of two years ago, hands twitching over the sides of a coffee mug, unable to figure out what was wrong. _He’s your dad. I care about you._

Kurt makes it all seem so simple.

“Okay,” Blaine says, even though it’s not really an answer. “He’s out of the country right now, but, yeah. Okay.”

Kurt smiles again.

\--

They spend nearly two hours in the Lima Bean, waiting out the entirety of the afternoon rush. When they move to gather up their things and leave, Blaine is utterly unsurprised to see the college student subtly start to move for the door too.

The air outside is crisp and unkind, and Blaine feels himself shiver slightly as he tightens his scarf around his neck, before pressing himself close to Kurt’s side. “C’mon,” he says. “I’m parked across the road.”

They separate out a bit to cross the road, hands still linked – as much public affection as they dare to show in Lima – and Blaine finds himself tugging Kurt forward, grinning slightly, because it’s _Valentine’s Day_ and he gets to spend it with his boyfriend—

He sees the car too late.

It’s barely there in his memory, a sudden burst of sound, engines revving, tyres squealing, and his first instinct is to get Kurt away, push him to safety—

—and then the force hits him, breath knocked out of him.

He topples. Falls.

His head smacks against the tarmac.

\--

“—Hit him—”

“—Boss said—”

“—Unharmed—”

“—Just move—”

“Don’ feel good.”

“Shut up—”

“—Driving—”

“—Not looking so good, boss—”

“M’head hurts.”

“’m gonn’ be sick.”

“—Shit!”

“—Did warn you—”

“—Don’t care about the seats!”

“—Think he’s dying—”

“Kurt.”

“—Concussed, you idiot—”

“’ove you.”

“—Rambling about now?”

\--

The doctor’s hands are cold.

It’s so stupid that that’s what he’s focusing on out of all of this, but the doctor’s hands are cold. There’s something wrong with that.

“I think it’s broken,” the doctor informs Kurt, touching his arm gently. “We’ll get you scheduled in for an x-ray, but it could be some time…” She frowns. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone you want me to call?”

Kurt shakes his head, careful not to move his arm. “I’m good. I just—when can I talk to the police?”

“If you’re talking about the guys who showed up fifteen minutes ago, waving ID badges around like they were glow-sticks, then you can wait until we’ve treated you,” the doctor tells him. He really should find out her name—huh. Dr Andrea Hall. “I’m sure they can wait until you’re not about to go into shock.”

Kurt blinks up at her then. “I’m not in shock,” he says.

Dr Hall raises her eyebrows. “At the moment, sure,” she says. “But as soon as all that adrenaline drains out of your system, it’s going to be another story. Now, I’m going to ask again, because the more I look at you, the more I realise that you look like you’re fifteen. Is there anyone I can call?”

“No,” Kurt says, this time more certain. His dad is out of state for a romantic Valentine’s Day treat with Carole and Kurt is not going to disturb them. They need their peace. “And I’m eighteen.”

Dr Hall shuts her chart. “If you’re sure,” she says. She’s not tall, but making a valiant effort at being so through judicious application of dangerously high heels, and she has a kind face. She could be pretty, Kurt absently notes, but she doesn’t really look like she particularly wants to be.

Suddenly, Dr Hall sighs, eyes caught on something behind Kurt. “Am I going to have to call security?” she asks rhetorically. “There’s a woman trying to get into the hospital room,” she informs Kurt, nodding at the scene behind him.

Kurt blinks and turns, wincing as he jostles his arm. He squints through the partially closed blinds, and spots a woman in business dress who looks ready to do battle with the SHIELD agents stationed outside Kurt’s hospital room. Kurt has only met her once or twice, but her face is memorable, an aged beauty.

She’s Blaine’s mom, Pamela Anderson.

“I know her,” Kurt says. “She’s my—boyfriend’s mother. Let her in.”

Dr Hall raises her eyebrows at Kurt yet again, but she nods. Kurt watches as she stands and walks over to the door, opening it and muttering something placating to the SHIELD agents. Seconds later, Pamela bursts into the hospital room, and up close, it’s easy to see just how frayed at the edges she is by all of this.

Pamela comes to a stumbling stop by Kurt’s side. “Kurt,” she says, and it’s a desperate plea. “Kurt, he’s—”

Kurt can’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She looks so pale, Kurt thinks. Terrifying and terrified.

“He promised,” she says. “He promised he’d keep Blaine safe.”

“It’s—not his fault.”

Pamela takes a deep breath. “I…” The sound wavers on her lips. “I don’t know what to do.” _Tell me what to do._

Kurt swallows past the lump in his throat. “Have you heard from Mr Stark?”

Pamela nods. “He called. He and Miss Potts are cutting the Japan trip short. They’ll be here by tomorrow.”

Kurt hears the door open, and hears Dr Hall have a quiet exchange with a hospital intern.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kurt tells Pamela. It’s the truth. Even if Blaine’s… Even if they never get him back, it will be okay. It will hurt, and it will tear Kurt apart, but eventually, it will be okay again.

He doesn’t want to have to have to be okay again.

“Excuse me,” Dr Hall interrupts. “I hate to cut in, but a spot has just opened up for Kurt in the x-ray theatre.” She turns to Pamela. “Do you want to come with him?”

Pamela looks to Kurt and shakes her head. “No,” she decides. “I’ll be…” She drifts off. “I just want my son back.”

Yeah, Kurt thinks as Dr Hall leads him away. Me too.

\--

The two things Blaine becomes aware of immediately after he wakes up are as follows: the first that he has a headache to end all other headaches, and the second that there is a bag over his head. His other senses return to him in patches, and he takes in the feeling of cold metal around his wrists – he’s handcuffed to a chair.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic. Think, Blaine. _Think._

Kurt saw them take him. There were agents on duty. They know he’s gone. _Someone will be looking for him._

He can barely remember the drive over here, and he thinks he might have thrown up all over his kidnappers’ car, but he can remember voices. He counts off the distinct sounds in his head. One. Two. Three. Four.

Four men.

Fuck, this is going to _kill_ Tony.

No, focus, Blaine. Don’t think about Dad. Just, focus.

Okay, he’s handcuffed to a chair, at an unknown location, with a bag over his head that probably hasn’t been washed in a very long time. Altogether, Blaine doesn’t have much going for him right now.

And then he hears footsteps.

Count them – how many people? Two distinct rhythms. Two people, both with heavy feet, and they’re getting closer, and closer, and—

A hand reaches over the top of Blaine’s head and yanks the bag off him.

Blaine blinks blearily in the bright light of the room, instantly cataloguing its most noticeable traits. The walls and floor are unfinished concrete and the light is coming from fluorescent tubes along the ceiling. If Blaine had to guess, he’d put his money on this place being a new development site that ran out of money halfway through.

And, the men. Blaine takes in the neck tattoos, the shaved heads and the combat boots and wonders if they could be any more cliché. “Wow,” he says, trying to ignore the way he can barely force his tongue around the word. “I’m loving the aesthetic you’ve got going here.”

Blaine half expects a blow, but it never comes. Instead – and this is the most bizarre thing possible – Meathead No. 1 walks around to the back of the chair and _unlocks_ Blaine’s handcuffs.

What. The. Hell.

The weirdness continues when Meathead No. 2 withdraws a tiny box from his pocket, and places it on the ground with a bottle of water. Blaine recognises the box as containing Advil.

Blaine stares.

Meathead No. 2 gives him a flat look as his companion returns to his side. “Take them,” he says. It’s not a suggestion. “We want you lucid for the ransom video.”

Very much aware of the two sets of eyes on him, Blaine reaches forward for the box and opens it. He extracts a layer of pills and pops two free. Then he downs them, before chasing them with a swig of water.

Seemingly satisfied, Meathead No.’s 1 and 2 turn to leave.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to extend your generosity to giving me my phone back?” Blaine calls after their retreating backs.

Meathead No. 1 freezes, then turns back around. “Your phone?” he asks, sounding vaguely amused. “Sure.”

Blaine watches him pull it out of his pocket – sees a flash of _STARKPHONE V1.0_ – before Meathead No. 1 rips the back off it and tears out the battery. He waves the battery in the air beside his head, mocking and smug, before he drops the backless phone to the ground.

And then he stands on it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He drops the back onto the ground next to it.

“Your phone, Master Stark.”


End file.
